


Work Work Work

by Chromi



Series: Chromi's Kinktober 2020 [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Begging, Canon Universe, Consensual Non-Consent, Costume Kink, Friends With Benefits, Kinktober 2020, Light Bondage, M/M, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Non-Penetrative Sex Toys, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26817868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: “Filthy marine,” Marco cooed, twisting Deuce's nipple cruelly, dipping the tip of his tongue into the sensitive shell of his ear. “Were you waiting this whole time for me to come find you out here?”Day 2: cosplay + nipple play
Relationships: Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Masked Deuce
Series: Chromi's Kinktober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948690
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40





	Work Work Work

**Author's Note:**

> This features Marco and Deuce in an established friends with benefits relationship, engaging in roleplay that involves noncon. However, it is extremely obvious that the setup is completely consensual.

Deuce's chest hit the wall hard enough to slap the air from his lungs, leaving his mind spinning hopelessly for a moment too long. Rough, calloused hands gripped his wrist tight, twisting it behind his back to come to rest between his shoulder blades, earning his attacker a high, pained squeak.

“Look at yourself,” was hissed into his ear, as coarse as the hand squeezing his wrist, fingers encircling his front to drag up under his clothes to his shivering stomach, “strutting around in a shirt like this, practically begging for anyone out there to rip it off and take you.”

The shirt in question – white, standard marine-issued accompanying a blue tie wound primly about his neck – rubbed over nipples already sensitive with arousal, catching and tugging, wringing a harsh sigh from between his clenched teeth.

Marco – yes, _Marco,_ because Marco _liked_ dressing Deuce up in whatever outfits he stumbled upon on his travels, the damn weirdo – responded to him wholly, teeth snagging his lobe, fingers grazing higher up his body to pinch a bud into rosy fullness. It shocked him, caused him to clamp a gloved hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, grinding back against Marco's hot erection with unabashed need.

“Filthy marine,” Marco cooed, twisting Deuce's nipple cruelly, dipping the tip of his tongue into the sensitive shell of his ear. “Were you waiting this whole time for me to come find you out here?”

He hadn't done anything of the sort, of course – hell, Deuce was a pirate himself, obviously, one who was directly under Marco's supervision as doctor and member of the first division no less – but for the sake of this depraved game, Deuce nodded hurriedly, whimpering for good measure. Marco did so enjoy it when he acted his part, after all, and if Marco's rasped breath—the weight of his hard dick nestling snug up the cleft of Deuce's ass—were anything to go by, then this time was to be no different.

Ah, what would Ace think of him if he could see him now, pinned to the wall and half-hard already simply from Marco's manhandling?

He'd maybe even laugh at him.

Deuce definitely didn't groan at the thought of this, forehead knocking to the chilled wall of the medical bay.

“You didn't answer me.”

Wrist released and pain alleviated in his shoulder as a result, Deuce scarcely had time to glance over his shoulder back at Marco before his other hand joined in with vigor. Up his touch trailed, taking its time to flit over the hard lines of Deuce's abdomen, pull at the lip of his navel, cup the curve of his pectoral muscle, before giving in to his borderline demanding groan, the arching forward of his chest in search of Marco's fingers to his right nipple.

“No,” Deuce gasped, already struggling, vile and disgusting as he was for going the hell along with this stupidity in the first place, “of course I wasn't—w-waiting for you, you fucking _pirate_.”

For good measure he snarled, teeth bared, shooting Marco the most hateful look he could muster in this position. It was, after all, impossible to ignore the hot weight of Marco grinding up against him, pushing him harder against the wall, his cheek rubbing to smooth paneling.

“ _Get off me_ ,” he ground out, actions entirely at odds with his words as he leaned into those fingers working him _so_ sweetly, tweaking his nipples to fully stiff peaks, pads of fingertips rolling the buds with a gentle, falsely loving kind of pace, “how di-did you even break out of your cell, Pirate? Those bars were made of seastone – there should've been no way you could've—”

“I took your keys.” Marco's grin was full and sincere in his voice, kiss brushing to cheek, cock flush and insistent against Deuce's ass and _god_ he was going to tear these pants off himself if Marco didn't do so in the next thirty seconds, he was so _thirsty_ for him. “You _wanted_ me to break out, dear marine, and ravage you until you can't stand. I've seen how you look at me: like you want nothing more than to ride my cock, squealing like the government pig you are.”

A further pull – a twist – at his nipples had Deuce shuddering with a wet gasp, clawing at Marco's hands through the thin fabric. He didn't want to think about _where_ Marco had procured this uniform from, or who would be missing it right about now. Ah, that poor nameless marine somewhere in the New World, missing his shirt, his pants, his jacket that Marco had torn (literally) from Deuce's shoulders mere moments ago, throwing it to the floor with no care whatsoever.

Deuce didn't fucking _care_.

Deuce wanted Marco to fill him up until his world reduced to black and his own name was lost to the night, swept away by bliss.

“Get on with it,” he hissed, reaching back behind himself, clamping to Marco's hip and _pulling_. “If you're gonna do it, then fucking _do it_ already, Pirate. I've had enough of this.”

Marco grinned into his hair, pinching his nipples and earning himself a guttural, desperate groan; a press of Deuce's hips back into his weight. “Greedy little ensign, aren't you?” Marco rasped, and, to Deuce's horror, released his chest in favor of sliding his fingers back down over his stomach instead. Down they dropped and forward Marco pressed, flush to Deuce's back, unrelenting until nothing separated Deuce from the chill of the wall, pressed cheek to navel against it. Those hands – hands that possessed fingers lined with nails that _very_ easily transformed to a hybrid between human and phoenix, as Deuce had received with pleasure just one too many times before tonight – settled at his hips, curling inwards, _warning_ him.

“Am not,” Deuce snapped, heat rising in his cheeks now. He wanted—wanted Marco to—he sighed, eyes rolling shut with a shudder. He didn't _know_ —he just needed Marco's mouth on him somewhere, his cock stuffed somewhere else, his stupid roleplay torn off him to grant him unbridled lust that commanded Deuce's every _nerve—_

And then he was spinning, Marco turning him on the spot to slam his back up against the wall and drop to his knees with an awful, _awful_ grin in situ.

“Stay quiet, now,” Marco smirked, running the tip of his tongue along his top lip, over teeth too sharp to be _fully_ human, “else your friends will hear you scream.”

He had barely enough warning to again clamp a palm to his mouth, only _just_ managing to restrain the deep, guttural groan that spilled from between his lips on Marco's closing around his cock through the pants. White-hot pleasure seared along his fingers, down to his toes, up his spine to liquidize it into nothing, leaving Deuce writhing in place, fingers lacing into blond hair and _pulling_.

“ _Marco_ ,” he gasped into his palm, trembling something fierce as Marco found his cockhead through the pants, mouthing along the swollen outline of him, “ _shit, Marco—”_

The pressure was deliciously teasing, Marco's saliva seeping through the fabric to heat Deuce's dick just barely, not _enough_ , nowhere near _close_ to being enough. He rutted, shamelessly, against Marco's face, his breath coming in harsh sighs and sharp gasps, the friction not enough, _notenoughnotenough_ —

“Marco,” Deuce tried once more, having no idea what the hell he was even begging for, lost already, needing something but having no idea _what_ anymore, “Marco, the p-pants, they're— _Mar_ —” His head tipped back with relief, a laugh bubbling up in his throat, when Marco's needle-like grip on him travelled round to the buckle of his belt, working at it with fevered need. “ _Yes_ ,” Deuce sighed high and restless, back of his skull butting to the wall, wild-eyed and trembling, “ _yes_ , please, _that's it,_ Marco, hurry it up—”

But Marco pulled _away,_ leaning back on his knees, _again_ with licking his lips like he was savoring the taste of something that clung to his tongue in memory alone.

“The hell are you doing?” Deuce demanded, frustrated, scratching lines even through the gloves that instantly healed across Marco's scalp, the role of the submissive little marine ensign lost to the swirling horror brought about by the loss of that mouth on him. “Marco, don't, don't stop—”

“You're forgetting yourself,” Marco grinned an evil kind of grin, looking supremely in control for someone on his knees, inches away from getting his mouth around his subordinate's dick, “aren't you, _Marine?”_

Deuce's head collided with the wall again, impatient, quivering, failing to effectively play the part of the indignant marine getting unwillingly pulled around by the terrifying pirate commander. His hips snapped forward on Marco's hands returning to their work, sliding his belt free of the buckle, busying himself with the button and zipper of the pants next.

“Don't speak to me like you know me, Pirate,” Deuce snapped, hoping it was enough, praying that his tone was just harsh enough to get Marco to reward him for his efforts. He couldn't say he was into this, the whole roleplay thing – but it didn't _matter_ , did it, if it meant Marco got rough and abandoned his role of the considerate lover for a night, instead seeing to it that every less than loving itch was scratched for them both.

It was— it was plenty enough, judging by Marco's huff through his nose, the darkening of his eyes as he pulled the offending pants down with Deuce's boxers, freeing him to stand thick and flushed—

—and tapped a finger to the slit of his cock, watching with fascination as a string of precum glistened in the air on drawing back before dripping to the floor.

Their eyes met; their eyes met and Deuce experienced a thrill of arousal like never before just from the look Marco was giving him. He was about to get devoured, he could see it, and he welcomed it with a cant of his hips forward, the tempting parting of his knees just that little bit more.

“What're you gonna do, Pirate?” Deuce asked with difficulty, aware of how his knees were trembling, how he swelled under Marco's breath ghosting him, another drop of precum dribbling free to cascade down his shaft. “What now?” He only hesitated for a single heartbeat before fisting Marco's hair, feeling like he was going to vibrate right out of his _skin_ under that cool blue gaze. “Are you really vile enough to have your way with an innocent ensign?”

He was.

Absolutely.

That was the _point_.

And Deuce felt a wild thrill of satisfaction as his knees were seized and tugged, forcing him into collapse, dropping him to the floor in one clean motion before he could do anything more than yelp in shock.

His back hit the floor as Marco hauled him into position as easily as if he were a mere doll, his pants and boxers torn from his legs properly to leave him bare from the waist down. His wrists, caught in Marco's left hand, were pinned to the floor above his head, opening him up under his captor, thighs spreading to accommodate him, back bowing off the cold floor.

“ _Yes_ ,” Deuce hissed, rutting up into the friction of Marco's thigh pressing to him, the sensitive underside of his cock dragging to the rough material and begging mindlessly, soundlessly, words sticking to his throat, for more, _more_. “Mar—ah, _P-Pirate_ ,” he corrected, straining up into Marco's fingers lifting his shirt, exposing him up to his ribs, ardently staring at him like he was the prize that Marco had only ever fantasized of claiming, “don't, you can't—”

The shrill _plink_ of buttons hitting paneled flooring ricocheted through the room as Deuce's shirt was ripped open, the blue tie sliced through by a talon _(oh, Marco had lost composure enough to bring out talons?),_ leaving it to flutter uselessly to the floor under his neck.

And honestly?

Deuce was a little disappointed Marco hadn't decided to get creative with that tie, leaving it bound about his throat.

But no matter.

“I can't _what?”_ Marco growled, bearing back down with all the static energy of a storm poised to ruin. “Can't touch you?” His left nipple, exposed and stiff, hard and pink, was thumbed, pinched, twisted in sync with Deuce's needily groaned response. “Can't chain you?” Cuffs – _cuffs, seriously_ – snapped shut around Deuce's wrists above his head, unnoticed, attached to who knew where, tight around him and sparking his first real flicker of genuine fear (that built, that crested, that transformed into something so vulgar and primal that Deuce shook with it, leaking his excitement all over his lower abdomen). “Can't use your body for my own enjoyment?”

Marco's palms swept down over Deuce's waist now that he was secured as Marco pleased, his touch almost reverent, as though Deuce was something fine and beautiful to behold rather than hard and panting, nipples erect, abdominal muscles tensed against the urge to wrap his legs around Marco between them and grind against him to completion.

Fuck Marco for getting him so senselessly aroused like this, and with virtually no effort whatsoever.

“You want me so badly you're going to come from it,” Marco purred, sinking back down to take Deuce's right nipple between his teeth, matching the rolling pace he'd set at the other. A laugh slipped from him on Deuce arching up against him, legs falling open that little bit wider, swelling into his touch. “See?” Marco's voice rumbled against over-sensitive skin, eliciting a gasp than plunged into a moan. “You're shaking.”

His hands circled under Deuce's back, lifting when meeting the floor, pulling him by the hips up to crush to Marco's still-clothed erection. It was so much, so _good_ , Marco's lips sucking a resonating _pop_ as he pulled off Deuce's nipple before licking back to it, flicking the tip of his tongue to the bud as he thumbed over the other... and Deuce was perfectly certain he was about to lose his mind.

He couldn't keep quiet. He couldn't muffle himself to his palm anymore, voice left unrestrained and cracking when one hand slipped lower, between his cheeks, sliding sticky through the lube Deuce had used earlier on Marco's direction, stretching and readying himself in anticipation for this game. A means of speeding it up, Marco had crooned from his chair, palm to erection and chin resting to knuckles as he had watched Deuce work himself open. Get the prep out of the way before the uniform was donned, and remove the necessity for it when things got going later on.

Such as now— now, with Deuce writhing against his bonds, tears pricking his eyes, on Marco's slow, measured, two-fingered press into his body.

“That's it,” Marco sighed to his chest, nosing at his swollen nipple, “such a good ensign, aren't you? Such an appetizing fuck.” He hooked his fingers with intent, stroking over Deuce's prostate, adding to the flood of precum soaking both of them where Deuce's cock was pinned between them.

But Deuce ground his teeth, willing himself not to scream his pleasure of being breached and sob his need for Marco to fuck him already; the walls were thin, he had to remind himself, throbbing against Marco's abdomen and driving his head back to the floor, tongue bitten between his teeth. The walls were thin on this ship, and there were others from the medical division _right there_ on the other side—

But all thoughts of being discovered by the nurses were wiped clean from Deuce's mind as Marco's fingers were withdrawn far too quickly, doing virtually _nothing_ to ease the burning lust that pounded through his veins. He sighed, closing his eyes in bitter frustration, the sound transforming into something of a snarl as he felt Marco leaning back and away to fumble with his own belt.

“Better than you, at any rate,” Deuce panted, giving the chain of his cuffs an experimental shake, “you threaten to fuck me and then leave me hanging like this?” He laughed the most mirthless laugh he could muster, though it shook with humiliating desperation. “I'm almost disappointed.”

“You won't be for long,” Marco said, all appreciation and that thick weight of hunger dropping his tone low and sultry, “you'll be begging me to stop before you're begging me for more.”

Deuce couldn't see that happening anytime soon, but whatever. If the need did arise – not that it ever had or, in Deuce's opinion, ever would – then the safe word would be used, no questions asked.

The dual touch of something plastic to his nipples – certainly not Marco's tongue or fingers this time – had Deuce's eyes snapping open in an instant, attention caught, raising his head as much as he could to see...

What, exactly?

Two pink plastic devices with wires trailing from them were being held in place to his nipples, rubbing in slow circles as Marco surveyed his reaction, smug and waiting with heated anticipation. When the reaction he had clearly been waiting for – probably something along the lines of Deuce crying out in embarrassed shock, no doubt – didn't come, he asked, “do you know what these are?”

Deuce shook his head slowly, watching his chest rise and fall with his fevered breaths, the devices not feeling nearly as good as Marco's fingers, but still better than nothing.

“Of course you don't,” Marco grinned, perhaps understanding that it was Deuce, and not his marine character, who wasn't clued in. “You're far too prim and proper to know anything about toys.”

Marco could have easily been talking to either one of them – Deuce or the played marine stereotype – and he would have been right.

But then Marco was reaching for something out of sight, trusting Deuce to stay still for long enough to prevent the pink oval objects to slip off his chest. The sound of tape being eased from its roll snapped through the air once, twice, and then next moment, Marco was—Deuce swallowed a gasp, brow furrowing—taping the things to his chest right atop his nipples, sealing them down.

If Marco was looking to work Deuce up into flat irritation, he was certainly succeeding. He wanted Marco's mouth on his chest, pulling and tweaking his nipples to send flutters of pleasure dancing along nerve to nerve to settle at his groin, making him pulse precum. He didn't want them _covered_ by... whatever these were.

“Don't,” Deuce grated, head thudding back to the floor, spine bowing tauter to offer himself, to beg for Marco's touch again, “don't, Marco, I want your—your hands on me, not _these_ —”

“Ahh,” Marco sighed, picking up something else now, something that he seemed to deliberately keep out of Deuce's periphery, “sweetheart, you wouldn't be saying that if you knew what these were. You're going to enjoy them a whole lot more than my hands, I promise you.” He paused, watching Deuce squirm, gaze trailing down to rest with burning intensity to watch Deuce's cock twitch, soaked, curving back up to his navel. Then, in the sweetest, most innocent tone he could probably manage right now, considering how he had his pants bunched around his thighs and his dick every bit as red and hard as Deuce's, Marco asked, “would you like me to show you what they can do?”

He wasn't given a choice. He wasn't given the chance to question it, to do much more than succumb to the welcomed thrum of fear that bolted through him on Marco's benign _sinister_ smile.

Marco flicked whatever he was holding in his hands, and Deuce's brain seemed to short-circuit and fizzle out into white noise.

The things taped to him _buzzed_. Vibrated. Tortured his nipples with the most delicious sensations Deuce had ever felt in his life, drawing from him a scream barely bitten back behind his teeth and hastily swallowed. His back lifted; his shoulders tightened; and everything felt _hot_. His body, suddenly alive with such excruciating sensitivity, shook underneath Marco, his biceps burning something fierce on pulling against his shackles, thrashing right there on the medical bay floor. It was intense beyond whatever he had expected – it transcended reason, left Deuce utterly breathless and on the verge of coming like that, stimulated but not, enough but not nearly, right at the edge of orgasm but being held back in the most awful, mouth-watering way.

“Mini vibrators,” he heard Marco murmur above him, the tears of unfettered frustration that pooled in his eyes obscuring Marco's smirk looming over him, “so I can use my hands elsewhere. Clever, don't you think?”

Deuce _couldn't_ think— not beyond the screamed demand in his mind for Marco to end this with his cock buried right up to his throat. His stomach cramped with urgency, hating Marco, _loving_ Marco and his stupid ideas and that depraved need to wind Deuce up to almost breaking point.

“Shut up,” Deuce gasped, wishing his hands were free so he could manually force Marco inside of him, he was that desperate, that _done_ , “just—fucking—shut the hell up a-and—” his hips bucked up, heels planted into the floor, and near enough bit clean through his lip as Marco dragged a forefinger down his wet shaft. “ _Marco,”_ he cried, literally, tears breaking their banks and streaming over his mask, “ _just fuck me already_.”

He didn't expect Marco to do what was demanded of him – not now. Not in this role, this getup, this situation that had Deuce strewn open and begging. Not when, so perfectly at odds with their usual sessions and heated explorations of one-another in the privacy of Marco's bedroom, Marco was completely free to be as mean as he chose, both of them confident that whatever Marco could think of, Deuce would be agreeable. That was how it went, usually, when it came to Marco's imagination. _Wear this. Do that. Just for tonight, baby, let me act outside of who I naturally am_.

So feeling the blunt head of Marco's cock lining up with his entrance did come as something of a shock. A good shock. A shock that had Deuce pulling Marco in hard, heels digging into the backs of his thighs as Marco lifted him, angled him, and pressed inside.

It left him insensible – breathless – that first slick, hot slide that ended with Marco sheathed to the hilt. Made Deuce bow back, struggling between the stimulation at his nipples, the pain of the cuffs digging into his wrists, and the throb of Marco utterly filling him. He tried to say something – _anything_ – trembling furiously in Marco's hold as a pace was found without even a breath of recovery time. Pleasure coursed through him, saw to it that he cried out shapelessly, on the brink but hopelessly clinging to the edge lest this all be over too soon.

But Marco, of course, didn't want Deuce clinging on for dear life. Taking his dick in hand, Marco leaned over him, pressing in obscenely deep and leaving absolutely no room to draw his hips back, simply rutting into Deuce, nosing to his collarbone.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Marco groaned, nipping at Deuce's skin, laving a kiss to chase it down. “Ahh, little marine, you're shaking so violently. Is it that good? Are you going to come on a pirate's cock?”

“I-I'm gonna c-come,” Deuce managed with a stuttered breath, head back, throat bared, unwittingly inviting a suck to his larynx, “gonna—c-come—" A choked moan left him, his cock pulsing in Marco's hand, and it was impossible to do much more than let himself be rocked through the motions, unable to touch, unable to give back anything, left only to be destroyed by how incredible he felt.

“You look so good like this,” Marco growled, and, as though it physically hurt him to do so, he reared back and away, sitting up. Deuce barely had the capacity to think of looking at him then, and he had to immediately turn his face to his arm to hide— Marco was watching him like he was something to be carved into memory, taking in the vibrators at his chest, the ripped marine shirt, the copious amounts of precum smeared all over Deuce's abdomen, his slack-jawed moan of Marco's name that pitched higher, higher, _higher—_ “All undone for me, like some kind of shameless slut.” His thumb tripped over Deuce’s frenulum, and Deuce’s vision receded to black static for one breathless moment. “I have half a mind to heal you the second you come, and then take you again and again until you pass out in a pool of your own semen.”

Deuce shook, moaning in time with the hard, brutal slap of hips to hips, the buzzing of the vibrators sending him spiraling into confused, overwhelmed dizziness.

“D-Don’t,” Deuce sobbed, the quivering of his thighs uncontrollable, victim to that ever-closer overstimulation, “don’t, Marco, _please_ , I won’t—I can’t—”

“You can,” Marco cut in, ragged, roughened, the marine’s jailer, not his prisoner, never his to hold under lock and key, “let yourself _go_ —” A hard, cruel slap; a shrill cry, left unrestrained to color the air a fiery crimson— _“come for me, Deuce.”_

And Deuce did as he was ordered, biting into the inside of his arm in an attempt to muffle the soul-deep groan that shivered through him.

It seemed to go on forever this time, his orgasm did. Felt almost, he was sure, like he wasn’t going to resurface from it, knowing only of his skin crackling with the electricity of it, the buzz of the vibrators strapped to him quickly turning from intensely pleasurable to almost borderline painful, once his peak was hit. How Marco, finesse discarded and pace lost to lust, hauled his hips up higher the moment he stopped convulsing with the shock of a climax so good he wanted to sign the details into skin and bone to never forget it, and filled him to the brim with himself.

Overflowing.

Sweaty and ruined; sated and soaked.

The vibrators were turned off at Deuce’s sobbed behest, squirming in place and crying out for Marco’s mercy, for the game to stop now that their prize was wrested from each other. A flinch snapped through him on the tape being torn off, his nipples underneath sore and swollen, throbbing along with his pulse… but that wasn’t to say it didn’t feel good, that lingering glow of discomfort.

And when Marco crawled up into his space to unfasten the cuffs, Deuce’s first response was to fling his arms around his neck, keeping him close, nosing into the curve of neck to shoulder.

“You’re not marine filth,” Marco said at once, fingers sliding into sweat-dampened hair, holding Deuce close against his calming heartbeat. “You’re Deuce the doctor of the Whitebeard fleet. My friend.” He sighed what sounded like a small laugh, readjusting his weight on the arm supporting him parallel to Deuce’s head. “My friend who still wants to fuck with me, despite being coerced into dressing up like this for my own gains.”

Deuce smiled into Marco’s skin, stroking patterns to the back of his neck. “I didn’t say no, though,” he reminded him, and damn, even his voice broke and shook in the aftermath, “and I had a way out if I needed it. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re sure you’re fine?”

Deuce nodded against him, humming his ascent. “That was good,” he said, no shame to be found in saying so, because really, at this point, what shame was there left to have? Marco had seen him at his most desperate, his foundations bared and wishes announced, more times than he could count. “I don’t mind being manhandled every now and then.”

“And the cuffs weren’t too much? The vibes?”

Deuce frowned at that, not knowing what to say.

“No,” he said slowly, because no, they truthfully hadn’t been, “but maybe warn me about them first next time.”

“Done,” Marco quickly agreed, leaning back just enough to work a gentle kiss to Deuce’s lips, “done and done.”

Ah, he so didn’t want to get up. It was almost nice lying on the floor, Marco’s weight heavy on top of him, covered in sweat and his own ejaculate. Actually, scratch that last bit – that wasn’t quite so good.

But having Marco like this was.

**Author's Note:**

> If there's anything in particular you'd like to see, feel free to send me a message on either [Tumblr](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Chromiwrites)! I'm open to requests! Please bear in mind that at this time, I would only like to write about AceDeuce (or DeuceAce), or maybe MarcoDeuce if the kink fits ;)


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